


Next To Me

by GideonGraystairs



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Growing Up Together, Idiots in Love, Long-Distance Relationship, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oblivious Merlin, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 07:19:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15383568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GideonGraystairs/pseuds/GideonGraystairs
Summary: Merlin and Arthur have been best friends since before they even knew what friends were. It's always been Merlin & Arthur, Arthur & Merlin, never one without the other until suddenly they're miles apart and living entirely separate lives in entirely separate countries. While Merlin takes the separation hard, calling at every possible minute and staying up all night worrying, Arthur's moving on to new friends and bigger things. Which, of course, explains how Merlin somehow ends up confessing to being in love with him out of absolutely nowhere. He's just as shocked as Arthur is.





	Next To Me

 

× _Our futures were written with crayons in colouring books. It was misspelled and outside the lines, and we loved how it looked._ ×

   

"I hate this," Merlin groans, sinking back onto his bed with a resounding thud. His arm splays out across the navy blue sheets like a fish flopping over dry land, his phone tumbling to the mattress with an arching bounce and a soft fwap as the sheets shift to take its weight.

"Hey," comes the scolding tone of his best friend in response, echoing from the muffled speakers of the thoroughly abused device. "Stop that, you're going to give me a headache."

"Good," Merlin snaps back viciously. "You deserve it, you asshole."

"Now, now. I didn't do anything. Oh wait, actually, I _did_. I told you it was a stupid idea from the start, which I would very much like credit for."

Merlin groans again, rolling his eyes back and grabbing one of the pillows behind him to smother himself with. Doing just that, he lets out a frustrated scream into the mass of down and cotton, kicking his bare feet against the bed so hard he hits the wooden frame with a clunk and nearly breaks a toe. This time his groan is more out of pain than irritated frustration.

Arthur had, in fact, warned him nearly two weeks ago about the possible repercussions of his admittedly poorly thought-out plan to leave all his coursework to the last minute. Merlin just doesn't really want to give him the satisfaction of being right, which the stupidly smug asshole just so happens to be far too often for Merlin's liking. What kind of best friend says 'I told you so' rather than helping him with his hours worth of research for his six page musical theory essay due tomorrow? A shitty one, that's who.

"Are you pitching a fit? It sounds like you're pitching a fit. That, or you're having sex. Which would be disgusting. Hang up first, would you? I do _not_ ever need to hear that."

"You say that like I have somebody to have sex _with_ ," Merlin whines, rubbing his sore toe as he examines it for damage. The nail's a little cracked, but apart from that everything seems relatively fine. He's more concerned about the recent damage to his ego that his supposed friend has managed to inflict within the last five minutes of their two hour conversation.

Arthur snorts. He’s probably aiming to be reassuring, but in all the years they’ve been friends he’s never quite managed it. "There, there, _Mer_ lin. You'll find someone eventually. You might not have much in the way of personality, but you're fit enough to score _something_ at least."

"Hey!" Merlin cuts in, abandoning his injured toe for his wounded pride. "I'm fitter than you, clotpole."

"Not with that mouth, you aren't."

"Oh, I'm sure they'll love my mouth just fine."

"Gross, Merlin. Like I wanted _that_ image in my head."

"Besides," he continues anyway, ignoring Arthur’s comment completely as he sprawls out on his stomach and reaches for his phone. "Why do I need to find someone? I have you."

The grainy image of Arthur on his small screen rolls its eyes in fond exasperation, but he's still smiling as he shakes his head. "You're codependent. You know that, right?"

"Shut up," Merlin replies, but he's grinning too. He misses their easy banter so much it keeps him up at night, sometimes. More often than not he finds himself staring up at his new apartment's chipped ceiling and wondering what kind of roof his best friend's laying under. He never did get to check out the residency dorms over at Oxford. "You love me."

Arthur laughs. "God knows why."

"Because I’m loveable. No one’s impervious to my charms, not even you" Merlin affirms cockily before his entire expression breaks out like a Christmas tree. "Oh! I forgot to tell you I found our old colouring book! It was in a box with a bunch of Uncle Gaius's old things, but Mum pulled it out when she was looking for some old chinaware."

Arthur blinks at him through the crappy IPhone camera, bringing whatever device he's on closer to his face. The blue of his eyes is hard to make out given Merlin’s got a model nearly a decade old, but Merlin breathes a little sharper anyway. "The one with all the messed up buildings?” Arthur probes. “God, that brings back memories. Can I see it?"

Merlin's Christmas expression shifts to Halloween as he tilts his head down and grins up menacingly at the camera. "Are you sure you want to? It's terrifying. We were very disturbed six year olds, after all."

Arthur gives him the scolding look he always has when Merlin's being difficult, folding his arms across his chest so his storm blue T-shirt bunches up around his biceps. Merlin just snorts, rolling away after barely a moment to grab the item in question off the hardwood floors of his cheap apartment. He makes a show of displaying it for the camera with fancy hand gestures and sound effects, ignoring the indulgent eye roll he gets in return. Flipping to his favourite page, he holds it up for Arthur to see and settles back on the bed.

"Oh my God," comes the amused exclamation of surprised confusion from his screen. "What does that even say?"

Frowning, Merlin flips the book back around to squint down at it himself. " _Tree_ , maybe? Then again, it could be _frog_."

"Every writer starts somewhere, I guess," Arthur laughs, narrowing his eyes at the screen like that'll somehow insert sense into their childhood scrawlings. Merlin snickers along with him, dropping the heavy mass of thick paper onto the bed beside him. It sends a shiver all the way down the frame, rattling straight through to the scratched wood of his floorboards, and Merlin winces as the bedside table trembles precariously as well.

"You should include it in your biography. Arthur Pendragon: writing prodigy at the ripe age of six."

"That reminds me!" his companion interjects suddenly, perking up and readjusting himself on whatever he's seated on. Arthur runs a hand through his styled blond hair with a nervous smile coated thickly in apprehensive excitement, biting his lip as he looks up at Merlin through the lens of his camera. Merlin's pretty sure he's on his laptop, judging by the angle, and Arthur shifts it slightly to capture himself better before he continues with what he'd been intending to say. "I think I figured out what I'm going to call it."

Merlin nearly falls off his bed in excitement. "That's great! What did you decide on? Personally I've been vouching for 'The Pen is Mightier Than The Dragon', but since we've established already that you have no taste, I'm sure I'm about to be disappointed."

Blue eyes roll at him, but the smile never leaves his friend's face. "A Work In Progress."

"Oh," Merlin replies after a moment. He blinks, frowns, opens his mouth and then closes it again as Arthur looks on at him in confusion. It's more than he was expecting, but still so very Arthur he's not sure why he's surprised. Maybe he's just caught off guard with how meaningful four simple words can sound coming from a boy he's known since he was four.

"Well," he tries again after a moment. "Not as good as mine, but I guess it'll do."

"I hope you know I would smack you right now if I could."

He's about to respond with one of his trademark snappy comebacks, but his genius is flushed down the proverbial toilet by his phone buzzing its way out of his hand and flopping back on the bed, simultaneously cutting him off and providing Arthur with a beautiful view of the cracked white ceiling. An irritated noise falling from his frowning mouth, Merlin reaches to pick it up and poke at the screen until the incoming message pops up, Arthur's big head minimizing into one small corner.

His face twitches. He swipes out of the message and back onto FaceTime without responding.

"Sorry," he apologizes, knowing full well he's hardly anywhere near the fun mood he'd been in barely seconds ago, but not really able to bring himself to care.

Arthur just gives him an appraising glance-over, frowning even harder than Merlin and trying to make out every facial tick regardless of how low quality their cameras are. He doesn't say anything for a long minute, peering suspiciously at his friend as Merlin begins to fidget, a clear and obvious tell he's always had for whenever he starts feeling guilty.

"Who was that?" he pries eventually, raising an eyebrow as river blue eyes dart away from the screen.

"No one," Merlin responds a little too quickly before catching sight of Arthur's uncertain expression and mumbling into his arms, "Just some guys from my program. They wanted to hang out."

"Oh," Arthur states in a mock repeat of Merlin's earlier expression, eyes going wide as the equator. " _Oh_. Sorry, I'll let you go then. I-"

"What?" Merlin cuts him off, pulling himself into a sitting position and bringing his phone with him to give it a weird look. "No. I don't want to go out with them."

Arthur just looks even more confused than before at that, eyes like shifting forests swaying in the wind of Merlin's strange behaviour. It makes something twitch at his cardboard heart, the flicker of flames waiting to burn him into scorching embers. Arthur isn't usually confused by Merlin's actions, no matter how odd they might often be. He usually knows him better than he knows himself or at least understands the meaning behind every twinge of his muscles, even if he doesn't fully accept it.

Not anymore, apparently. This is why Merlin didn't want to go to colleges a thousand miles apart.

"Why not?" Arthur tries to reason, unaware of the storm brewing deep in his friend’s gut. "It'll be good to go out and make new friends. You've got to move on eventually, Merlin. We're in different countries now."

He says it like he's joking, like it _is_ a joke, but Merlin takes it as a rush of flammable gas heading straight for the sparks licking at his heart.

"I don't want to move on and make new friends."

Arthur makes a frustrated sound, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. He's not joking anymore; he's annoyed at Merlin's perceived inability to go out and be a normal human being with a normal social life. It's an argument they've had before, one of the only things they've ever had a serious fight over. "And why not?" he demands. They’re both a little hot-headed — they used to butt heads so often Merlin’s mum joked that they really must be siblings — and his tone is verging on bright red anger like the blood rushing to Merlin's head and clouding his thoughts.

Which kind of but not really explains what happens next.

"Because I love you!"

Merlin freezes. Arthur blinks. What the hell?

"Merlin-" he starts, sounding like he's just gotten all the breath knocked out of him. The boy in question doesn't let him finish whatever he was going to say, though, lunging to smash the end call button and bury his phone in the sheets along with himself.

Because what the _actual_ fuck? Where did that come from? Yeah, Merlin loves Arthur - of course he does, they're practically family - but why did that have to sound like he's _in_ love with him?

He's not.

Is he?

Merlin groans, dragging a pillow down to smother himself with. Arthur's definitely going to think he is, especially since he stupidly decided to hang up rather than laugh it off or make it abundantly clear that he hadn't actually meant it like _that_.

He hadn't.

Right?

 

×

 

Merlin stares at his phone and wills it to ring. The screen's a little cracked now from throwing it at his wall the night before, but not enough for him to blame its silence on the device not functioning properly. He tries to brush it off as Arthur probably not being awake yet considering it's five hours earlier for him and therefore not even two in the morning, but that doesn't keep his fingers from twitching nervously or his heart from beating frantically.

There were no missed messages when he turned it back on the second he woke up, nothing at all in the fifteen hours since he hung up on him.

Merlin lets out a nervous breath and checks the clock. At least not being able to talk to Arthur forced him to finish his essay on time, if nothing else.

He flicks his phone screen on one more time before he leaves for the school. Even the busy streets of Scotland can't keep his mind off of the increasingly concerning events of the night before.

 

×

 

Merlin's sitting in his musical theory class jotting down notes on rhythm so fast his hand's beginning to cramp up when he comes to a soul-shattering realizing. If Arthur calls or texts or reaches out in any way, that means Merlin will actually have to _talk_ _to him_. And, knowing Arthur like he has since they were four, he'll be forced to address that little mishap from last night. Which, uh, yeah. No way is that a conversation he wants to have at this particular moment in time.

Not when he still has absolutely no fucking clue why he said that stupid sentence in the first place. Not when he's kind of a little bit terrified that maybe there was sort of some possible truth behind it.

He's never really thought about it before, but Arthur is the only thing Merlin's ever felt certain about in regards to his future. Arthur's going to be a part of it in one way or another, as he's been saying since he was seven and they pinky-promised to be friends forever. It's only now that he's beginning to reevaluate the _way_ in which he’d like him to be a part of it.

It makes sense. He's always clung to Arthur as tightly as a second skin and felt this insane sense of possessiveness whenever someone new tried to weasel their way into his best friend's life. Arthur likes to call him a jealous green monster and pat him condescendingly on the head when it happens, but Merlin usually just preens under the attention and the effectiveness with which he'd managed to ward off the apparent threat to their very exclusive contentment.

Then again, possessiveness doesn't mean he's in love with his best friend, does it? That's just the kind of friendships Merlin's always had.

Then again, Arthur's and his is really the only friendship Merlin has at all, so there's not exactly much to compare it to.

Merlin groans. He's missed probably three pages worth of notes, too, thanks to stupid Arthur Pendragon and his stupid confusingness. Which is totally a real word. Merlin says it is. Screw what Arthur might say to the contrary.

Dropping his head onto the desk with a thud and a couple dozen dead brain cells, Merlin decides now is definitely not a good time to discuss what feelings he does or does not have towards his best friend. Especially not _with_ his best friend.

 

×

 

His phone goes off at exactly 11:04 PM, a soft face with wise blue eyes and ruffled, sunshine blond hair lighting up the screen.

Merlin panics and stabs the end call button before he can think twice about it.

 

×

 

Somehow, Merlin finds himself falling into a rhythm. He wakes up, clicks the screen to black when it lights up with a text from Arthur, makes himself marginally presentable, goes to school, sits in the middle right section of every class, actually does his coursework on time for once, ignores the buzzing of his phone throughout the day, goes home, pretends he can't hear the FaceTime ringtone going off, falls fitfully asleep while staring up at the ceiling regretting his entire life up to this point and then rinses and repeats each morning.

It's quite simple, really.

Well, it is until two weeks have passed and he's laying in bed one night, contemplating every decision he's ever made. Mostly surrounding his friendship with one Arthur Pendragon, as that seems to be the only thing he's been able to focus on in his free time as of late.

Which is how he somehow comes to the conclusion that yeah, he might be a little bit in love with his best friend.

Just a little bit.

"Fuck," he groans, smothering himself with his pillows for the billionth time in the past few weeks.

 

×

 

Before he knows it, a month has passed. It hurts when he looks at his phone, at the missed calls and texts gone unanswered, but at the same time maybe this is good for him. He's become increasingly aware in the past month that nearly his entire life has revolved around Arthur and it's more than a little concerning that he feels so lost without him.

He feels like maybe he's grown in these past four weeks with no lifeline of familiar safety to cling to as he normally would. Maybe he's more his own person, more confident and more aware of the world around him even when it doesn't necessarily concern him.

He's branching out, making new friends exactly like Arthur told him to the last time they talked, and suddenly he finds himself in a circle of people without wishing they were his childhood best friend. He likes them, likes the fresh jolt of life they've brought to him and sweet tang of something new, likes the way they don't know every single little thing about him the way a certain someone does.

Maybe that's what it is. He and Arthur grew up together, having met in kindergarten when they were both only four years old, and it's always really been just them and nobody else. They've grown into themselves together, grown into each other and never even thought to peel apart, and maybe what Merlin's just now realizing is that they've been two very different people all along.

It's always been there, sure. It was there when Arthur sat down at a computer and started to type, shaping words beautifully to weave stories Merlin could never have told in such a way. It was there when Merlin started to tell his own stories with his own words, with rhythm and rhyme and piano behind it. It was there the first time they fought, screaming at each other because Merlin couldn't possibly begin to understand Arthur's fixation with logic and labels. It was there when Arthur muttered quietly that he really did want to go to Oxford after all and Merlin should really go to the Royal Conservatoire all the way in Scotland, putting them kilometres and hours apart. It was there when Merlin found himself fighting back angry white tears of hurt when Arthur got his first girlfriend at fifteen, when he whispered that he was bisexual to Merlin in the back of a dimly lit pub on his birthday the next year. It was there when he found himself fighting back those same tears when Arthur told him at eighteen it was weird that Merlin still hadn't gone out with anybody.

It's always _been there_ , Merlin's just also always been very good at ignoring the blatantly obvious.

They're different people. They have different lives, they want different things, and Merlin's learning to be okay with that. He needs to be okay with that before he thinks he can talk to Arthur again.

And yeah, Merlin finds himself sitting in the midst of his new group of friends some weeknights aching for the sleepovers he and Arthur used to have when they were thirteen. The ones where they'd wear patterned pajamas and stay up way too late giggling to each other, sometimes sneaking down to snatch scary movies off the high shelves of his living room bookcase.

But that's okay. Merlin will get over it. He'll get over Arthur.

He has to.

 

×

 

He's sitting on his bed with Lancelot in the middle of December, paging through textbooks to find the elusive answer to their frustrating teacher's impossible question, when his friend suddenly glances down at the floor and frowns. Merlin pauses mid page-turn, following his line of sight until his own eyes land on the object of Lancelot's curiosity.

He sucks in a sharp breath.

"Oh, that," he says, like it really is just _that_ and not his entire childhood wrapped into four hundred pages of messy rainbow scribbles. "It's just something silly I found a while ago when I was digging through some old things. I must’ve forgotten  to put it back."

Lancelot gives it a long, pensive look before reaching down to wrap his deft fingers around it and haul it onto the bed with a noise of great physical exertion. Merlin follows every movement with a look that clearly says the book might as well be a green-skinned monster with five foot teeth, snapping its powerful jaws at him in warning.

Brushing off the cover and flipping through the first few pages, Lancelot pauses in thought. "Who's Arthur?" he questions curiously, like that isn't the one question Merlin had been hoping never to have to answer.

_My best friend_ , he wants to say.

_My soul mate_ , he wants to say.

_My family_ , he wants to say.

_My rock_ , he wants to say.

_My everything,_ he wants to say.

_My brother, back then_ , he wants to say. _More than that, now._

"Just someone I've known since I was little," is what he actually says. Lancelot hums in acknowledgement, drowning out the noise of Merlin's now racing heart. The sound of pages turning helps cover up the roughness in his throat, true, but he still finds himself hoping Lancelot won't look up any time soon. He's got some ghosts of the past swimming in his eyes that he really doesn't need anyone to see.

His friend lets out a sudden laugh upon the next flip of rough recycled paper, squinting down at it like it holds the secrets of the universe in a language he just doesn't know how to read. "What does this even say? _Shin_?"

"I think it might be _tree_."

Lancelot laughs again, the sound filling the room that's felt empty for so long, and Merlin can almost smile with him around the faltering of the singed cardboard in his chest. Not quite, but almost. Almost enough that he can pretend it doesn't hurt to think about Arthur or how they've been friends for sixteen years and haven't spoken in nearly two and a half months now.

It's Merlin's fault, he knows it is, but everything in his heart and his head and his world is so confusing right now that he can't make enough sense of it to draw into concrete things. And Arthur doesn't like anything that isn't concrete, doesn't like the malleable and uncertain any more than he likes the untruthful and insensible.

He can't talk to Arthur until he knows what to say.

Only, Merlin's starting to question if he ever will.

 

×

 

In the end, it doesn't really matter whether or not he knows what to say. Not after three months have passed and he's sitting on the floor of his apartment with his new temporary family, a little tipsy from the alcohol he's had already but still smiling happily and giggling as Freya tries unsuccessfully to remove Lancelot's t-shirt for the dare Gwen's just given her.

It doesn't really matter after he's sat back down with his second beer, the clock reading just after eleven before midnight's new year, and Gwaine falls heavily into him with a hearty laugh and a splash of Guinness over his hardwood floors.

It doesn't really matter when suddenly the doorbell's ringing and he's having to detangle himself from his smashed friend with more than a little difficulty. His socks slide across the smooth floor all the way into his entrance and he nearly laughs out loud at the sensation, sounds of the celebration going on just behind him following the entire way over.

It especially doesn't matter when he swings the door open to reveal one Arthur Pendragon, the direct cause and result of every one of his plights since October.

Merlin blinks at him in shock as freezing as the ice bath Elyan had been dared into taking an hour or two ago. He can't do anything but continue to gape, even as Arthur shuffles awkwardly on his doorstep and unsubtly tries to land uncertain green eyes on absolutely anything other than Merlin's figure standing right in front of him.

"I don't-" he starts, glancing his friend up and down with furrowed brows. Maybe he's dreaming. Arthur's been in a number of his dreams over the years, it wouldn't be that far of a stretch. Granted, most dreams involving Arthur hadn't been as realistic or uncomfortable as this current situation feels.

"Hey," Arthur greets, like somehow that actually helps. He shuffles his feet on the scruffy brown welcome mat he helped Merlin pick out last year at Ikea, running a nervous hand through wind-tousled hair.

"Hey," Merlin repeats after him, almost robotically.

"Can I, uh," he cuts himself off, clears his throat, darts his eyes to Merlin's and then looks away just as fast. "Can I come in, or...?"

He doesn't have to clarify the 'or', it's implied in the uncertainty with which he stands at his doorstep, like he honestly believes Merlin could ever just turn him away. It's a ridiculous notion, though maybe it does make a little bit of sense with the way Merlin's been ducking all his recent calls.

Still, he really shouldn't look so relieved when Merlin finally steps out of the way, holding the heavy slab of wood open to let him through. Arthur steps into his apartment as though it's a crime scene he doesn't want to compromise and Merlin thinks that maybe it is. He's made a lot of bad decisions within the confines of these four walls, some of which include telling Arthur he loves him in a tone that very much implied he meant it in the non-platonic way and not doing his coursework until the last possible minute when there was no way in hell he'd finish on time.

"Oh," Arthur notes in a surprised tone, freezing a couple feet away from the door as he takes in the scene in front of him. "You have people over."

Merlin shrugs. "Just some friends from school and a couple of their flatmates."

"Right," Arthur says simply, but there's something in his voice, his eyes, that says he somehow disagrees. He's always been the type to keep quiet about the things he's uncertain over, though, so Merlin isn't at all surprised when he says nothing more.

"Why are..." he trails off. He doesn't want it to sound like he doesn't want Arthur here, like he's unwelcome or something, but at the same time he's not really sure what's happening right now. Merlin closes his mouth, frowning down at the floorboards, and wonders if he'll have enough time to make sense of the confusing mass of feelings inside of him before Arthur brings them up. He's pretty sure he won't, considering he's had three months and barely made any progress past the basis of 'Yeah, I’d quite like to snog my best mate.'

But Arthur turns around the moment he says a word, his expression so pained and unsure that it feels like a knife cutting straight through the cardboard of his heart without a single ounce of resistance. He knows he should have called him back, should have replied to his messages sooner, but at the same time he's all too aware of why he didn't.

Merlin's never exactly been known for being good with change or confusing things. Which, as luck would have it, are both terms that could easily be used to define their relationship this past while now.

He watches Arthur's Adam's apple bob, hands digging into the pockets of well-fitted jeans.

"You weren't answering your phone," he says, because he knows what Merlin was going to ask just like he always does. Arthur has a tendency of knowing the answer before Merlin's even figured out the question. "I didn't know what else to do."

Merlin takes a slow, deep breath. He doesn't say that it's really weird and disconcerting for Arthur to think flying across the continent was the logical next step. "Yeah, sorry. I just had to... figure things out, you know?"

Arthur's eyes are searching. Maybe he doesn't know.

"Figure what out?"

Merlin's just started waving his hands in a vague gesture of ' _things_ ' when he's interrupted by Gwaine stumbling over to throw an arm around his shoulders. Waving what must be his fourth can of beer at the newcomer to the party, he breathes stale whisky air into Merlin's face and shouts directly into his ear. "Who's this?"

Merlin sighs- he'd forgotten about everybody else. Looping an arm around Gwaine's waist to keep him from sending them both tumbling to the ground, he silently curses himself for not getting more than a little tipsy before Arthur showed up. The entire effect has worn off already from the shock of everything and he's certain this would all be so much easier to handle if he were drunk.

"This is Arthur," he says, raising his voice as he steps towards the rest of the group still sprawled out on the floor beside his bed. They come to attention at varying speeds, some groggy with the liquor they've got instead of blood and others running high on adrenaline. Beside him, he thinks Arthur tenses up even more at the sudden spotlight glaring down on him.

Or, maybe, at the sight of the thick four-hundred page colouring book resting on the bedside table. Merlin curses himself for not hiding it after the nights he spent pouring over the drawings of their past trying to remember what it was like before, wondering if there was ever a time where he wasn't in love with Arthur Pendragon.

He still doesn’t know.

It doesn't take long for a general consensus of greeting to mumble its way out of the assembled parties before they return unceremoniously to the game of truth or dare they've been playing for nearly three hours now. Lancelot's the only one still looking at them, even Gwaine having slumped happily back down to the floor beside his equally plastered flatmate.

There's something in those knowing eyes that has Merlin shifting uncomfortably. It's like Lance can see right through him, right to the parts Merlin can't see himself, and he's honestly a little terrified of what his friend may have found. For all he knows, it could be the freaking Loch Ness Monster or some terrifying truth he's never going to have the strength to admit to himself.

He clears his throat, casting Lancelot a pleading glance to stop looking at him already, before he implodes. Lance seems to understand despite how easily it could have been misinterpreted, merely offering a small smile full of sad understanding before turning back to the dark-haired girl swaying heavily into him.

"We should talk," Merlin suggests after watching him and Gwen for another minute. He turns to Arthur as he says it, his tone uncertain and hesitant, really more of a shaky question than a solid offer.

The other boy stares silently back for an uncomfortable moment before he agrees. "Somewhere with some privacy might be best."

Nodding, Merlin's feet pad softly across the beech wood floors of the apartment's main room and Arthur's dark converse sound out rhythmically behind him. No one in the room pays them any mind as they exit it, Merlin moving to open the only door his accommodations actually have. His friend gives him a weird look when he notes that they're stepping into a small bathroom, but Merlin ignores it in favour of gently clicking the door shut behind them.

"It's the only room with a door," he explains when he turns to face the other boy. He leans back against the door as if to enforce his point, hands behind him pressing hard against the solid wood. There's not enough space in the close quarters for them to be any more than three feet apart, so Merlin finds himself suddenly unable to tilt his head up and meet Arthur's eyes for fear of him seeing things Merlin doesn't want him to, now that they're closer together. He keeps his gaze trained fixedly on a crack in the cornflower blue wallpaper instead.

Arthur merely hums, shuffling his shoes along the gaps in the bright white tiles.

"What did you need to figure out?" he starts, repeating his question from only a few minutes ago at the same time that Merlin decides he has absolutely no idea where this is going.

Merlin hesitates, pressing back against his hands so hard his jeans leave red indents on his ivory skin. "A lot of things."

Arthur rolls his eyes. "How specific," he comments dryly, but there's nothing behind the weak attempt at their usual banter. Merlin misses it, misses him, but there's still so much confusion clouding around him, so much he still hasn't figured out, and Merlin's beginning to realize he doesn't even have the slightest clue what it is he's still trying to figure out.

He loves Arthur. He knows that. What else is there?

If there had been anything, it goes away the minute he finally brings himself to meet his best friend's eyes.

Merlin lets out a breath he shouldn't have been holding and manages a small, soft smile that is very much unlike his usual cocky smirks and lop-sided grins. "You know, _feelings,_ " he says, his tone light-hearted despite the heaviness this topic should carry with it.

It doesn't feel heavy when he's looking at Arthur. It feels like Arthur's arm draped across his shoulder as they stumble drunkenly to sneak back into their houses in the middle of the night and Arthur's brilliant laugh when Merlin came out to him the moment Jacob took his shirt off in Twilight. It feels like Arthur's smile when Merlin told him there was not a doubt in his mind that he would be a best-selling author someday and Arthur's soft lips pressed against his temple as Merlin cried himself to sleep that one night in August when they were fifteen.

It feels light and beautiful and happy, the way it always feels for Merlin to be around him. There's no dark cloud of confusion right now, in this very moment, because all that really seems to matter is that he loves him and he thinks he always has.

Merlin's never been good at noticing the obvious. Then again, neither has Arthur.

Arthur's laugh fills the cramped bathroom air with a bright echo of surprised relief. His eyes are softer when they fall back to Merlin's, like the weight of uncertainty he'd carried through the door with him is starting to slip away. He looks a lot more alive than the small shell of himself he'd dragged onto Merlin's doorstep.

"I've been figuring out _feelings_ , too," he admits. "It's amazing how productive we can be when we're not attached at the hip."

"I don't know, I kind of liked being attached to you. It boosted my confidence to know I'd always be better-looking than at least one person in the room."

Arthur reaches out to shove at his shoulder, his face twisting into the fond expression it inevitably takes on every time Merlin's biting sarcasm comes into play. Only, his hand doesn't drop after he's pushed at him, resting softly on the curve of his bicep as their eyes lock and search for the things both have inexplicably managed to find in the last three months of being apart.

Somehow, Arthur's lips end up on his.

And this... this feels like coming home to find his best friend sprawled out across his bed watching Netflix, having invited himself over while Merlin was at his weekly piano lesson. It feels like mushing flour into his hair and giggling uncontrollably as Arthur tackles him down into a cloud of white. It feels like the sky and all of time and space bottled into a spark of electricity, like flowers bursting suddenly into bloom with sweet pollen at their centers and castles erected solidly into the ground with both their names engraved in child's print.

It feels like anchoring down and flying free. Like eternity and the moment they're in right this very second.

It feels like everything makes sense and maybe it doesn't, maybe there's still a lot of figuring out to do, but Merlin doesn't really care as long as Arthur is beside him.

Neither of them have to say "I love you." It's implied in the way Arthur kisses at his jaw and Merlin spreads his hands across his waist.

They're not perfect. Merlin's still Merlin and Arthur's still Arthur and they're still Arthur & Merlin, Merlin & Arthur, only now the _and_ is a little more compact. And yeah, Merlin's an idiot and ducking Arthur's calls probably wasn't the best way to go about coming to terms with his moronic sudden love confession, but hey. It got them here, didn't it?

Merlin says he did pretty good. Screw Arthur if he tries to argue otherwise.

Possibly literally.

 

_×_ _So let's cut down the red tape and gather up the pieces of our youth. Cause there's nothing in this world we can't fix with some scissors and glue. ×_

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](http://raphaelsantiago.co.vu/) <3
> 
> This is actually my first work for this fandom (be gentle) and was also originally written a couple of years ago for another fandom that doesn't really exist anymore. Obviously I've changed a lot as a writer since then, but I've decided to bring those works over here for other ships and take another look at them. It's part of a series of one-shots I did for Sleeping At Last's album Yearbook - this one for the song Next To Me, from which the italicized header and footnote are taken.


End file.
